Tsu'gan's End
by jcdenton2012
Summary: For those who have read the Salamanders Omnibus... this is the story of how Tsu'gan finally dies... [Warning] Story contains graphic gladiator combat. [Warning]
1. Chapter 1

The smell of mechanical oil drifted like a wisp through the air of the back-world coliseum as a vox ponder interrupted the shouting mobs ranting of, 'Kill, kill, kill, kill,' which was yelled with a type of rare blood lust found only upon primitive worlds. Up above, the clouds darkened and thunder slapped the heavens in a foul echo, all of which doing little to stifle the blood lust of human hive worlder mobs gathered for the gladiatorial combat of the Lower Lander Coliseum.

"For your viewing pleasure… the Eldar Sword Dancer Gillona, vs the Coliseum favorite 'The Burned-Man,'" Spoke the vox ponder with emotionless grace as the crowds continued to cheer and create their own type of rumbling noise much like the toxic Hive World weather gathering up above.

This was Tsu'gan's punishment, his blood oath to die in this arena for all the wrongs he had committed against his fellow battle brothers. He, a former Astartes was now stripped of his honor and valor, a self ordained outcast thanks to the Marines Malevolent foul actions against Nocturne.

The humans were waiting with vicious glee in the arena's seating, fists raised in chant, 'kill kill kill kill.' Yes, he would kill, and continue to kill, just another gladiator fighting for release in this hellish place, until at last someone finally managed to bring him down. This was his punishment, and this was what he deserved… and Tsu'gan licked his burned lips, tasting the salty air, would this be the day he wondered? Would someone finally kill him, and release his blighted soul for the emperor's judgment? He hoped so, but… this death needed to be clean. He needed to die with honor… That was the way it had to be.

Beyond the stone archway, Tsu'gan could see his opponent, an Eldar woman with long black hair and parchment white skin. She was prancing around the arena, showing off her acrobatic skill with two twin daggers. It was clear to the former space marine that his foul xeno had the crowds mesmerized with her physical gymnastics, or perhaps… it was her lack of clothing.

The foul elder woman wore leather chaps which ended upon the soles of her feet, revealing the flesh of her heels and toes as she leapt through the air. She also wore a simple clothe battle cord around her flat chest revealing her slim muscular stomach and plump feminine curves. The female gladiator also wore two armored arm gauntlets made out of steel, evidently to redirect close quarters blows.

Tsu'gan continued to watch her show off, sprinting and jumping like a dancer, entertaining the shouting cheering crowds, showing off her sickening alien body like a trophy to the perverse whims of the human mobs. Yes, she deserved to die, the alien wretch… she should die like all the other Eldar filth that had so badly tortured the Salamanders… It was now that Tsu'gan felt his soul ache. He was no longer a Salamander, and this creature was no longer his mortal enemy, but… she deserved to die non-the-less, 'suffer not the alien to live,' he whispered before emerging from the shadows.

Instantly, the arena erupted into loud chanting, 'Burned-man! Burned-man! Burned-man!" they all cheered as the bronze clad human, towering head and shoulders above all others, emerged from the shadows, short sword rose in salute.

The Eldar stopped her prancing and turned to face her opponent, her prior confidence fading into concern, then horror, as this human stalked into the center of the arena. She stepped away while grimacing at his burned chocolate skin, clad in bronze armor and a red clothe tunic. Within seconds she knew the truth, this human… he wasn't tank bred. Oh no, she knew, she knew exactly what he was and that scared her.

"Why did you foolishly sell yourself?" asked the human warrior to the xeno woman. The Eldar gripped her daggers in a thinly veiled rage before smugly replying, "Because… it seemed like it would be fun killing you primitive creatures."

"I see," said the human with a hint of irritation, "In that case, your death will be slow…"

A chill ran down the female alien's spine from the fallen astartes verbal prod as the vox announcer declared the bout to begin. The Eldar knew she was quicker, but this wasn't a normal clumsy foe. If she wanted to end this quickly, she had to get behind him, and deal critical damage before….

In that split indecisive second, the Eldar saw the human close the distance in two strides. Her eyes widened in horror as this human male swiped his short sword sideways to decapitate her head, but she was quicker, and pulled back… the sword cutting a gash across her nose.

Tsu'gan watched the Eldar back flip away and stop, breathing harshly as blood trickled down her cheeks from the gouge across her nose. She looked at him with a mixture of hate and fear, as he slowly started to pace towards her.

'What was with this human,' thought the Eldar as she smeared blood across her face. Blood, the bastard had cut her! HER! How dare that damned ape cut her!

Tsu'gan whistled with fake surprise as the Eldar bitch leapt at him. She was angry, 'dimwitted creature,' he thought as he parried her daggers and kneed her in the stomach. The former Astartes felt a twinge of humor in his gullet as he felt something important snap inside her ribcage, perhaps a rib?

Spittle coughed from her mouth, eyes wide with surprise as the blood rage subsided. The Eldar felt two large hands grab her long her long black hair, and flail her face first into the sands of the colossus floor. The human warrior had broken something, a rib, and she could feel it raking against her internal organs.

Slowly, the Eldar stood to her feet, clutching the stomach wound with a nursing arm. She was bleeding from the face and walking away from the human warrior, all the while thinking, 'stay away, don't come any closer, I mean it.'

Tsu'gan watching the Eldar she-devil limp away with her wounds, fear upon her face like a tortured wild animal. To be honest, the sight of the wounded arrogant creature, while immensely pleasing, was also greatly offensive to his sense of honor, and proved more than capable of stirring his rage. With a bout of speed he closed the distance and grabbed her by the neck, the foul xeno gagged in an attempt to scream as he slammed her body into the ground, cratering stone beneath her slim and athletic body.

"Please," she struggled to say through broken teeth. The human warrior continued to hold the Eldar against the ground like a pinned beast. He looked at her and frowned hatefully before picking her up by the leg and tossing her body once more into the masonry. This time she felt more than a rib snap. Her arm broke, her shoulder dislocated, and something severed in her back.

The Eldar felt her legs go numb, but that didn't stop her from attempting to crawl away on her hands. But, the human was once more upon her like a dreadful shadow. She looked at him and begged once more, "Please… no more…" through shattered teeth and a blood smeared face.

It was now that the rain started to fall upon the duo, drenching both gladiators in brown water. The human rolled the Eldar's broken body over with a kick, sat on her waist, and looked into her eyes as beads of toxic mist ran down their faces, smearing blood and dirt into open wounds. Up close, the Astartes was even more of a monster with burned skin beneath his bronze armor which stank of sweat and blood. The look of such a horror, right above the Eldar, was just enough to shatter her mind.

"Please," she started to cry. In response the human sneered and reached down with his hands.

He didn't try to strangle her, oh no… his hands struck into her stomach, piercing blood smeared albino skin. The woman screamed in agony through broken bloody teeth as the human grabbed something important and started to tear it out. She limply lifted her hands in a futile gesture to stop him, but the gesture was clearly not enough.

In horror the human removed them, he removed her black bloody fleshy ovaries and showed them to the crowd, "You vermin," he swore at her, "Should just die out! Now go and let your dark soul be eaten knowing that a human male took your womanhood!"

The Eldar trembled in borth anger and extreme pain as darkness consumed her foul and wicked soul. Meanwhile, Tsu'gan continued to stand above her broken body, holding her reproductive organs like a trophy. The humans up above chanted his name as he did so, "Burned-man! Burned-man! Burned-man!"


	2. Chapter 2

The Blood Works beneath the arena stank of urine and rotting death as black tunic wearing serfs removed the decrepit corpses of fallen gladiators who had succumbed from their wounds. Their bodies were being unceremoniously mounded unto a mechanical lift destined for the facilities incinerators which sent the distinct aroma of cooked meat far across the Hive Worlds primitive habitats.

Tsu' gan could still hear the cheering crowd back in the stadium calling his name, 'Burned-man Burned-man Burned-man,' as he walked down a long blood stained corridor where tortured souls moaned in agony because of their broken bodies put through the coliseums perpetual meat grinder. These men and women, some alien but most human, lined the hallway nursing their cuts, bruises, and severed limbs, cradling such things with weary eyes.

The Eldar she-devil passed him, her broken body being carried away on a stretcher lifted shoulder height by two Blood Works Serfs in black tunics. Tsu'gan ventured a look at the lowly xeno's filth and took great joy in that look of pitiful agony and vengeful hate left imprinted upon her face. Yes, the arrogant creature had received exactly what she deserved, death, but… the why was far more important, she was Eldar… and that was all the former Salamander needed to justify his cruelty. The why, regarding her presence here was irrelevant, because Tsu'gan only cared for her vengeance against their foul and wicked sadistic race.

These great gladiators of this fine Coliseum came from many sources. Some were sold into slavery to pay off their debts, others fought for prize money or to settle petty disputes amongst the so called nobility, creatures like the Eldar tended to do it for fun as if the act of legally killing human's upon their own worlds in front of cheering crowds was some sort of great insult, and then there were people like Tsu'gan who did it simply to die. His motives were the easiest to comprehend, he wanted to die, die like the dog he was… die like the honorless vermin he was, and in order to do that… he needed a place where someone might actually prove capable of doing just that, he needed the Coliseum.

"Fancy a tumble love?" jested a pink haired woman, coming in from the side, and slapping him upon his armored pauldron. Tsu'gan looked at her and simply ignored the human winch as the she kept pace with him through the winding corridors of the Blood Works.

Poorly powered lights illuminated the way through the stone pathways; past numerous steel bared cages filled with scantily clad human slaves destined for kill competitions as the pink haired gladiator laughed to herself. She still was behind him, always behind him, like some sort of pink haired shadow. "What do you want?" he asked sternly while glancing at the woman. She grinned back, the sight of her white teeth further drawing attention to her dark green eyes and chocolate skin.

"No reason to be coy love," she said humorously, "It's Just that Xeo and the boys heard that you didn't fancy the Coliseum's latest little nightly tribute. What's wrong, don't like women? Maybe… you want a little boy instead."

Tsu'gan stopped and turned sharply, grabbing the human by her throat and lifting her up off the ground. She looked at him with a wide grin etched across her face, as his fingers flinched out of serious consideration to snap her neck like a twig. Had it been anyone else, had he not known this gladiator, he would have gladly her broken body right then and there.

Instead, he continued to hold her off the ground by the neck, considering things as it were, "So you do like women after all," she said mockingly. Tsu'gan once more thought about snapping her neck. It would have been child's play for a former space marine like himself… but… ultimately it was pointless. Why kill the damned, when the damned were already dead men walking? Her time would come. Just like all the others… including himself, as someone inevitably ended them all while upon the Coliseums blood stained sands.

Tsu'gan dropped the woman into a heap upon the floor. She gasped briefly and continued to grin at him as the gene altered gladiator towered over her like a giant, "I don't get you love?" she said while pushing up off the ground, her studded leather armor straightening out upon her slim build.

"A man like you, burned, mutilated…" she eyed him with a strange mixture of concern and understanding, "Someone like you should enjoy the Coliseum's nightly tribute, but you never touch them."

Tsu'gan looked at the human woman with his face hidden behind a bronze helm. Even had he not been wearing his headgear, the emotions upon his face would have likely been unreadable. The truth of the matter was quite simple; Tsu'gan never took the pleasures of the Coliseum's tribute because despite his lack of honor, at his very core, he remained a space marine and not some sort of renegade filth. Therefore, the physical pleasures of the opposite gender were constantly viewed as being beneath him.

"It matters not," he spoke to the woman, turning his back upon her. She continued to look at him hauntingly as he walked away, her face in a glower of disappointment as she yelled, "Just remember love! I like the muscled ones!"

Night descended upon the Coliseum as Tsu'gan stepped into his Spartan chambers consisting only of a rock slab bed with thin sheets and two small rugs upon the barren floor. He stopped briefly to remove his armor, revealing his burned body and horrifically scarred face.

Blood Works Serfs walked outside his chambers as he sat upon the stone slab wearing only his loin cloth. Behind his back, the door opened and two serfs gently pushed an Eldar woman into the chambers. She looked at him, wearing only a thin white tunic which ended at her knees.

"Are you the one?" she asked him, her long white hair flowing down an angular alien face. That face, so similar, so… Tsu'gan grinned wickedly as he recognized that face, "Sisters?" he spoke and turned away from her, grinning wickedly to himself.

The Eldar woman gritted her teeth and balled her fists, blue eyes of hate glaring into his back, "Slaves," she spoke matter of factly, "your vermin race and brought us here…"

Tsu'gan looked at her, and with a hint of humor interrupted her story, "Let me guess…" he spoke smugly with his lofty attitude doing little to dismudge the horrors of his burned face, "Pirates, and you hit the wrong ship. You and your sister got caught and rather than be killed like you deserved… the traders sold you to the Coliseum."

The Eldar woman remained silent, but ground her teeth bitterly. "So, your sister was a fighter and what does that make you?" he asked her, clearly humored. The Eldar woman looked away shyly and evasively answered, "A Steersman, I have no passion for the blade."

Before she could continue, the human was upon her, throwing her against the rock slab, and spreading her legs around his waist. She kicked at him and tried to force him away, spitting into his ugly face as he pinned her down with his muscled bulk. But… then he also stopped…

"With your sister dead, your life has been made forfeit," she looked at him with a mixture of hate and fear, blue eyes darting from side to side as she breathed harshly, "Did they tell you what I did to her?" he asked wickedly.

She looked at him in silence; clearly, the Blood Works Serfs had not told the Eldar warrior's sister how he had so brutally murdered the sibling during their gladiatorial bout. Tsu'gan grinned and leaned in upon her body so that he may whisper into her pointed ear, "You Eldar have always been a scourge upon the Salamanders, but… we have always shown restraint. But here, in this place, I am no longer bound by that restraint."

She struggled against his iron grip as the smell of his sweaty skin lingered into her nostrils. He was a brute, and cruel, the latter showing in how his iron grip upon her wrists tightened, as he told her exactly what he done to her sister.

"NO!" she yelled, attempting to break free so that she may kill him. In fact, that was the only thing she wanted to do, kill him, she needed to kill him. He deserved it, deserved it more than any human had ever deserved it!

Tsu'gan watched the Eldar go insane while bound beneath his body. She spat at his face and clearly would have clawed at his body had he not had her pinned upon the slab. It took a long time for her to calm down, but those eyes, filled with hate… continued to glare at him.

"Do you know why they brought you here woman?" he asked her with a snarl.

She nodded, "I will never give…" he cut her off, "I don't want to bed you woman…" he said flatly. The Eldar bit her lower lip in anger as he smiled at her.

"But I am going to give you a choice," he let go the woman go, and with one swift motion tossed her against the nearby wall where her back slapped across the masonry. The Eldar, physically stunned, hung to the stone wall as the human threw her a wool blanket.

"Sleep on the floor," he told the Eldar sister as he lay upon the slab, "like the dog you are." The Eldar she-devil gripped the wool blanket with her finger nails, clearly contemplating the idea of assaulting her sisters murderer as he slept, but upon realizing the futility of attacking a sleeping space marine without a weapon… she instead sunk to her knees in the corner of the room and struggled to fade away into the night as her mind lingered upon her vanquished sister, and how her murderer was literally just an arm's length away.


	3. Chapter 3

The arena was closed the following day, so that the cudgeled blood from many dead creatures could be mopped up or otherwise disposed of from the sands and flagstones stones of the battle floor, thus providing a temporary respite for contesting gladiators.

Arema awoke bleary eyed, and upon the cold hard stone floor in the same chambers as her sister's killer. She was in a small fetal ball with her knees pressed up against her chin, shivering, despite the wool blanket all so generously donated by that burned human. Her limbs were raw and stiff as she slowly stretched and pressed up upon her hands and knees.

There was a short delay of thought as she registered movement from the bed slab where the human warrior had prior been resting. His muscled bulk was rising from the slab like a giant awakening statue. In a delayed response, she screamed as a large hand grabbed her by the hair, and tossed her towards the wooden door where the personal chambers lead out into the hallway.

She hit the wooden frame with a muffled gasp of pain as t the human warrior started to adorn his bronze armor, "Stay dog," he addressed her. She started to protest, "I'm not a dog you stupid arrogant," but he backhanded her against the wall before she could finish, splashing red blood across the stonework.

Arema lay upon the floor with a busted bleeding lip, gasping for air, as the human warrior adorned his bronze cuirass and helm. He stepped over to her body and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it almost tight enough to break bones, "Listen dog," he addressed her, she responded with two blue eyes filled with hate, "I have no interests in bedding a xeno wretch like you, but by the same token you will be useful to me or I will kill you…"

At that moment the Blood Works Serfs opened the gladiator warrios doors to retrieve, what they suspected was yet another refused tribute, but instead what they found was the Burned-Man grinning towards them with the Eldar witch pilled upon the floor in evident pain.

"I'm keeping this one," he told them. The two serfs gasped and walked away from the door while bowing their heads out of respect to the enslaved martial master. The Coliseums champion had chosen his woman so who were they do deny him his prize. Besides, he had beaten her… and if the busted lips was anything to go by, then the foul Eldar woman had likely suffered greatly in his bed during the past night. For a group of humans… the sight of such a detestable arrogant creature being brought so low was something to be celebrated.

"As you wish my lord," addressed one of the serfs with his fellow black robed companion finishing, "and just so you are aware, the training floors have been opened for the day."

The Burned-Man nodded in approval and grabbed the Eldar woman by the waist, hoisting her lithe body over his shoulder like a sack of meal. She kicked and tore at his armor as he dragged her away, screaming profanities, and at one point bighting his dark burned skin.

"Let me down you monster!" she yelled as they rounded a stone corner illuminated in fading candle light. The human warrior ignored her squirming despite the heads she turned.

Oh, and they turned curious heads. The Burned-Man, Champion of the Coliseum, towing away an Eldar whore-slave, with many of the combatants noticing her busted blood smeared lips, and so they laughed to themselves. To them, among them, the jest was evident, 'The Burned-Man liked women after all.'

A few corridors later, the pair entered a vast open chamber where numerous combatants stood meleeing or shooting ranged target dummies. The Eldar steersman was surprised to see that among the assembled gladiators, there were not only humans, but also Orks, some fellow Eldar, and a lone one eyed Tau. Some of the assembled warriors glanced at the champion as he carried his beaten slave woman into the training arena, for such a thing was not uncommon in the Blood Works. In fact, it would have been uncommon if the gladiator had not raped his slave… but that was beside the point.

The assembled group paid little attention as the Burned-Man tossed the Eldar woman down upon the sands of the training arena where she moaned from the wind being knocking once more from her chest. She looked at him, in pain, as he walked over to a nearby weapons rack.

"Sword, bow, what have you?" he demanded with his large muscled back turned towards her. The Eldar woman struggled to breath, "I said that I'm not a warrior. I'm a steersman…"

He selected a sword, twirled it, and nodded out of appreciation for its balance. The Eldar woman watched him turn and walk towards her, tossing the blade into the sands near her face.

"Pick it up," he demanded. She looked at him with those hate filled eyes, "No," defiance, always defiance, clearly the woman was unaware of her situation, and the former Space Marine decided to remind her of it.

"I said pick it up," he narrowed his eyes underneath his bronze helm, and got closer to the woman so that she could better sense his anger, "You are no longer free, you are a slave, now pick… it… up…"

"No," she repeated. If she couldn't kill him, then at the least she could shame him. Unfortunately, her actions backfired for in this place none had honor including her fellow Eldar. They were all slaves, gladiators, or whores. This was the Blood Works, and now she had to choose… was she going to be a warrior or some gladiators whore?

"Either pick it up, or I'll leave you to them," he pointed to a group of nearby sparring Eldar warriors each dressed in studded leather armor, "And trust me," he continued with infamy in his voice, "You don't want me… to leave you… to them…"

She grinned at him and smugly replied, "I would rather have my own people tend to me than some barbaric human beast." He glared down at her with a hint of bitterness and glanced at the two Eldar warriors. Instinctively, they halted their actions, and noticed him give the briefest of nods.

"So be it…" he told her darkly, "let your own 'people' tend to you," and then the Champion casually walked away. Arema struggled to stand upon quaking knees as the two Eldar warriors strolled over to her wounded body. One appeared kind and offered her a helping hand, which she gladly accepted.

"My lady," he addressed her with a smile, "This way, and I will tend to your wounds. You will need to forgive the humans of this place… they are very," and he stopped briefly to grin wickedly while emphasizing his next word, "Brutal."

The Eldar woman was lead away into a side passage, dark, damp… eerily vacant, "Where are we," before she could finish something hit on the back of the head. Arema fell into darkness, and in a blur her reality fell back into place. One of the Eldar men had her wrists bound behind her back and was holding her firmly into place, a hand cupped over her mouth, his tongue licking one of her ear lobes.

"It's been a long time since I've tasted something so refined," he said lustfully while breathing rank fumes upon her exposed neck.

The other Eldar male was standing in front of her, undoing his trousers, dropping them to the ground with a wrinkling sound of thunking leather. He approached her, grabbed her thin blouse and tore it open revealing her pale skinned body, and blue soulstone upon her exposed chest.

"A fine treat, I must thank the Champion later," he said while forcing open her thighs. Arema screamed and tried to fight back, but they were too strong, and she felt the man… a man of her own race, forcing himself unto…

It was now that a dark shadow loomed over the three Eldar. The one holding her mouth shut slackened his gripe, let go of her body, and started to slowly back away as she sunk weekly to her knees, tears streaming down the sides of her cheeks. She looked up, struggling to breath, as a hand moved as swift as lightening, slamming the Eldar rapist against the wall, shattering his head like a melon.

The other Eldar male tried to run, but this monster was far too quick and threw his short blade into the man's back. Arema watched the second warrior of her race collapse dead, a pool of thick red blood gathering beneath his liveless corpse.

Above her, shadowed in the flickering candle light, stood the Burned-man, looking down upon her bare and exposed naked body with pity. In a rare moment of shame, the Eldar woman covered her nakedness and refused to meet his eyes until at last he spoke, "In this place what you are… doesn't matter. You are a slave. We're all slaves. Now choose. Do you want to be a warrior or some mans whore? Those… are your only two options."

Arema gripped her shoulders, drawing blood where her finger nails bit into exposed skin. She looked at the foul human, and with immense bitterness in her eyes said, "I hate you. With every fiber of my being… I hope you die."

The human warrior unleashed a brutal hard laugh which clearly rang throughout his entire soul, "Ohhh…" he shrieked, "I've felt that way before. You keep that hate close to your heart, keep it burning, and trust me… you'll be rewarded well in due time."

The Burned-man now threw her a grey wool tunic "Put this on…" and while pointing towards the sword still embedded in the other Eldar's back, "And that's your blade. Find me in the Training Arena when you're dressed…"He stalled briefly as if considering his next word and finally said, "woman," instead of 'dog.' Arema watched the giant human walk away… leaving her with the two dead corpses of her own kind, the same kind which would have taken her without permission… had he not intervened.


	4. Chapter 4

Arema stepped into the Training Area of the Great Coliseum, and was instantly ignored by every single nearby individual as they continued their own personal regimes while perfecting their own respective fighting techniques. This included several nearby orks in clothe tunics, the moronic creatures trading blows with large warhammers, "Inz the faze! Hitz me in the faze!" yelled one, his opponent bringing the hammer down in a giant arc to shatter his partners teeth into yellow falling bones and green mush. Both Orks then laughed, and his opponent lowered his warhammer before demanding, "Myz turnz! Hitz me! Hitz me!"

'Idiots' thought the female Eldar as she passed her attention across the room, noticing the Burned-man sitting on a distant bench with his arms crossed over his large muscular chest. She glowered and sneered before starting towards his position in a respectable stride.

Arema's bare feet sunk into the blood and sweat soaked sands of the Training Floor as humans with shields and swords traded blows by her sides. She noticed them, slow but determined, caked in sweat as they exchanged lunges, and thought nothing more of their interactions.

"Sit woman," he ordered as she came closer. The Eldar scowled but did as she was commanded, taking a seat upon the wooden bench, by the human champion's bronze armored side where she then sulked mournfully. Together, with their backs against a stone wall, they looked out over the Training Floor where hundreds of gladiators continued to practice.

"I want you to watch them," he pointed towards another group of sparring Eldar warriors in studded leather armor, "And them," while pointing towards a group of human warriors.

Arema looked at the Eldar warriors, a man and a woman; both dressed in leather loin clothes, bandaged feet, and leather cuirasses, exchanging blows with thin rapier blades. Then she looked at the human warriors, slower, duller, trading inelegant blows with thick heavy swords and wooden bucklers. Unlike the Eldar, the human warriors were clad in iron plate armor bound together with leather straps.

"And what am I suppose to see?" she asked the Burned-man. He turned towards her with beady red eyes, and a look of irritation, perhaps, upon his face? "You need to learn how to fight, but for now I just want you to see things. Keep an open mind. Watch their footwork and how they both approach combat."

She turned away from the tortured giant human and once more switched her attention back and forth between the Eldar warriors and Human warriors. The humans were slower, clumsier, and less refined. She noticed how they kept depending upon their armor to soak up damage. By the same token, the Eldar warriors were quicker, more agile, but… she noticed them performing ornate sword flourishes, their eyes being taken off their targets as they spun in the air.

'Why' she wondered, reflecting fondly upon her sister. Yes, her sister, she had done the exact same thing, removing her eyes from her targets during a sword fight in order to perform some sort of elaborate acrobatic movement.

"You noticed it didn't you?" he asked her. Arema turned sharply with shards of her long white hair hanging in front of her eyes. The Burned-man was looking at her with a hint of smugness. 'How long had he been watching her,' she wondered, as he turned away and motioned at both warriors.

"The Eldar are faster and more agile than the humans, but… their training is fundamentally flawed," he pointed at the two leather bound warriors as they spun about their combat area trading saber strikes, "I noticed this a long time ago while fighting in the arena. As much as I hate to admit it, being here has allowed me to gain a better grasp of your kinds of way of fighting than with my many years of service for the Emperor."

"Your people, the Eldar, lean heavily upon your agility and speed to dominate in battle. To that end, your warriors are trained to hone their battle prowess emphasizing maneuverability above all else, but… from speaking to your people in this place, I've also learned that you view military occupations as a fleeting path, quickly joined and just as soon to be replaced with something else. To that end, your fighting styles tend to have a lot of carry over with different occupational philosophies. They are meant to be as artistic as they are meant to kill. Now look at the humans," he pointed towards them.

"Humans are slower, less agile, less capable than an Eldar, but… our short lives give us a unique benefit. Unlike Eldar, who can live such lengthy lives as to master numerous occupations, humans live short lives and are far more likely to master only one occupation. Therefore, our approach to combat is VERY different. There is no carry over, a human warrior isn't also an artist, or a sculptor, or a tailor. A human warrior is just a warrior, and his movements mirror a distinct lack of artistic flare."

She watched the two human's trade blows, back and forth, slow, painfully slow, but… they wasted nothing. Each sword strike hit a shield, or their iron armors hides. Now she looked at the two Eldar, their sabers twirling in the air as they darted back and forth, blades striking abruptly in rare flashes as they made contact while leaping elegantly in the air.

"Human's use complete economy of force in their movements. We waste nothing, or very little. An Eldar may be quicker and more agile, but… their approach to war is heavily flawed. It's this use of artistic flare, brought upon by the carryover from other occupations, which weakens your martial abilities. Do you understand?" he asked her.

She nodded her triangular chin, and the Burned-man arose from his seat. "Then draw your blade, and follow me," he said with his back turned towards her while marching out onto the training sands.

Arema did as she was ordered, her feet digging into the sands opposite the bronze clad muscular monster. He nodded briefly, and a small semi-circle cleared around them, "Attack me," he ordered. The Eldar woman gritted her teeth and charged in with the drawn blade.

He parried it with ease using his armored gauntlet, and then stepped into her lunge while simultaneously using his large body to invade her personal space and thus force her back. 'Force her back' she wondered, 'was that a reflex?' As Arema leapt backwards from his lingering shadow, the giant human burst out laughing.

"Ohhhh…" he yelped, "You really are green, woman."

Her two blue eyes bore into him with irritation as he motioned towards her exposed feet, "Wrong stance, and when an enemy warrior invades your personal space don't try and gain distance… it never helps."

He then drew his blade and leapt at her. Arema tried to leap aside to doge, but his armored arm swung around from the left to block her. 'So fast, why was he so bloody fast?' she wondered while rebounding away. He was instantly upon her with that freakish speed, but she had a blade and put it between herself and his gladius. Sparks rendered from the steel on steel contact as his muscular body flung her off her feet with pure physical might.

Arema tumbled through the air and landed on the balls of her bare feet, "Quite trying to dodge!" he angrily yelled, "Focus on your natural defenses! I'm not training you to fight like some prancing Striking Scorpion, like someone who's afraid of being shanked without making it look pretty!"

Embittered, she charged the human, and they ground blades, but his insane strength forced her back, and worse yet off her guard. She hated him, arrogant, he was so bloody arrogant, human trash, he should just die! Despite being off guard she recovered as he lunged at her. Together they ground blades at close quarters as she leveraged her smaller body to dig her feet into the sands and push him back.

The Burned-man faltered slightly, and she foolishly got greedy and tried to follow through. In a split second his fist had found a lovely home, slamming into her exposed stomach with enough force to blow white spittle from her mouth.

Arema fell forwards upon her hands and knees as the human warrior brought down his gladius, abruptly stopping at her neck, drawing a thin bead of crimson which trickled down her smaller body staining both her grey tunic and pale skin.

"Again!" he told her, withdrawing his sword, and taking several paces back. The Eldar woman, now powered by rage, thinking only of her dead sister, willed herself up off the sands and charged the Burned-man once again.

This process repeated again and again and again, until Arema noticed something odd. The other gladiators, they had all stepped back and were watching them spar. Both the Humans and Eldar were watching with shocked expressions upon their face as the Arena Champion and his woman matched sword blows, leveraging might against might as their feet ground into the sands, but… she wasn't as powerful as him, and she knew it.

"Again!" he yelled at her as she once more slammed into the sands. Several gladiators parted away from the wounded woman as the grey tunic wearing Eldar forced herself up, blood and sweat caking her long white hair with muddy sand. She charged him again, but after several paces… her body went limp and she fell face first into a type of agony that she had never once experienced.

The Burned-man watched her approvingly as she crawled towards him, her fingers gripping into blood soaked ground, grasping towards his ankle. "That is adequate," he told her while knelling down. That look in her eyes, hate, raw hate, glared into him as he inspected the exposed parts of her lithe body.

Her skin was covered in cuts and bruises which left more red and black than a normal alabaster tone. She also had numerous pulled muscles, of which her mind just now noticed following her battle lusts deterioration, and at least two broken fingers with several bleeding fingernails.

Slowly, he placed his arms under her body and picked her up like a small child. Together they parted from the training area and returned back to his chambers.

Arema hated this human, she hated being beaten by him, she hated being carried by him, and now… she hated being undressed by him. "No," she cried with what little strength remained while feebly pushing away his large greedy hands, as he took off her grey tunic and lay her upon his hardened stone bed. She lay there, barren as he took a clothe rage, soaked in water, and started to clear away the blood from her exposed wounds. She was ashamed, ashamed that a brutish human was seeing her and touching her like this, and furthermore she was angry that the person spoiling her body was the exact same person who had so brutally slain her sister.

"I will not let you die of infection woman," he told her as she sobbed. No more, she wanted to die. She would rather die than let this monster pillage her pride so badly. But, as surely as he touched her naked skin… she began to fade away into darkness… her thoughts distorted by nightmares of blood and iron.


End file.
